Category Archives: Surrey and Sussex

59. Running in Crawley

crawley-west-sussex-summer-2004.jpgSadly, not every lunchtime yields the opportunity to make it beyond the edge of Crawley.

Here are two portraits of the local scenery which I finally decided not to forward to the company photographic competition.

It really is like running though one of those 1960s public information films, or starring in an English remake of ‘Gregory’s Girl‘.

Related articles:
46. On the front line – Crawley’s echoes of Madrid
74. God Jul: from Copenhagen to Crawley
58. Running in the North Downs
39. Woking – from Necropolis to Technology Junction
42. Twenty six times two – marathon dreams in the Surrey Hills

58. Running in the North Downs

From June into July, the scenery is pretty spectacular around here, and my running routes look at their best. Here are some pictures taken this month whilst running on the Downs above my house, and on my way to work each morning.

summer-north-downs-and-surrey-hills.jpg

Related articles:
138. A winter Sunday on the North Downs
42. Twenty six times two – marathon dreams in the Surrey Hills
134. Before the mast: Pewley Down, Guildford
76. A year of running, rainily

48. Chaucer’s April

Spring in England really is a magical time. Whenever I’m running out in the countryside, through the parks, or just about anywhere at this time of year, it is easy to appreciate Chaucer’s love of April:

bluebells-spring.jpgWhen, in April, sweet showers fall
And pierce the drought of March,
And bathe the vein and root
Of every plant with such liquor
That genders forth the flowers,
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42. Twenty six times two – marathon dreams in the Surrey Hills

A familiar sense of anticipation, and a race at last. The last few weeks of training have gone by in a flash, and it’ll be good to see how I fare on the road again. After weeks and weeks of running into the dusk, at last a bright and sunny morning. I’m feeling pretty good today as I open the curtains and look out. Spring seems to have arrived at last, and I can feel it in my step as I bound down the stairs for a big breakfast.

sunken-lane-surrey-hills-and-st-johns-church-wotton.jpg

My mother makes me a mountain of toast and marmite, the sun streaming now through the kitchen window of my youth. It’s a perfect day, and time to get ready. I pull on my favourite racing kit and try to imagine the race, how it will feel. I focus on the good feelings – calm, cool running through the early miles, feeling the distance kick in, but staying with it. For as long as it takes.
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39. Woking – from Necropolis to Technology Junction

woking-railway-hg-wells-ottershaw-church-and-wey-navigation.jpgIt’s an unsatisfactory sort of place now, but once it must have been a pleasant hamlet beside the River Wey.

This oft-flooded piece of grazing land, named in the Domesday Book of 1086, now carries the name of Old Woking, dwarfed by the newer town to the north.

A Saxon monastery once stood here, but when the railway arrived in 1838, nine astonishing years after Stephenson’s Rocket had changed travel for ever, this was a blasted and empty heath. Woking Common was just a deserted staging post as the tracks grew to Southampton in the west and Portsmouth to the south. Continue reading

37. Lord Beeching and me – the Worth Way

Another week, and another long run, which this time I’ve scheduled from Crawley. Theoretically it’s possible to fit the miles around ring roads and residential streets, but although that type of running can make for an enjoyable sort of fartlek, I’ve a different kind of excursion in mind today.

the-worth-way-crawley-to-east-grinstead-railway.jpgThe route I’ve planned crosses the suburban landscapes to Three Bridges, where I leave the sixties estates to pick up a cycle track along the Worth Way. Passing Worth church, in part built by the Saxons, my run heads across the M23 Brighton motorway and into the Sussex farmland beyond.

Just four miles into my outing, and I’m standing outside a smelly cowshed with green fields all around me, questioning my sanity. Twelve miles to go, and my legs should be feeling much better than this. But somehow they don’t, and I can see a struggle looming worryingly up ahead.

The track crosses the road to Turners Hill, scene of many an office outing to the Red Lion pub, to rejoin the course of the old railway, for the Worth Way follows the course of an old branch line. Continue reading